


Come home to me

by Selestiles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A wound getting infected, Angst, Dean Winchester/Reader - Freeform, F/M, Insecurity, Major Character Injury, Usual levels of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:28:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selestiles/pseuds/Selestiles
Summary: The reader gets injured on a solo hunt and hides it from the boys, causing her condition to worsen.





	1. Chapter 1

You like to consider yourself a fairly reasonable person. You are usually level headed and calm when having a discussion with someone, you try to see their point of view, and you don’t make stupid choices because of a disagreement.

Usually.

The moment someone doubts you, however, you are instantly overcome with an overwhelming need to prove yourself. Usually you get angry, kick some ass, and then come back victorious and smug.

Usually.

You knew that Dean was only trying to protect you. But you weren’t a fucking child. You knew how to handle yourself on your own. Yeah, so maybe it had been a while, but since you found the brothers you had no need to be hunting on your own.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t hunt on your own, and Dean seemed to forget that. Maybe he was right, though, and you were losing your touch.

Why would you be here if you weren’t? Crying on the driver’s seat of your jeep. You hadn’t used it much since you started hunting with them. There was no point. You regretted not giving it a little shine more often. The windows had been in dreadful shape when you took the cover off to drive away.

You sniff and wipe your nose angrily with your sleeve, scolding yourself silently. “Get a grip, you moron.”

You couldn’t turn back, and you wouldn’t until the rogue werewolf was six feet under. It was lonely, and hungry and dangerous. And it had been such an easy guess that you had been ready to go before you even finished reading the article.

Stupid Dean and his stupid overprotective nature.

_“You can’t do this on your own.”_

_“Why not? I’ve been hunting on my own for years.”_

_“Maybe you’re not as good as you were before.”_

_“What the hell’s that s'posed to mean?!”_

_“You’re our friend, Y/N, but maybe you shouldn’t do things on your own anymore.”_

You sniff again harshly, wanting to stop crying so you can check into the motel already. You were starting to worry that the desk lady would call the police on you when she saw you sitting in your car alone like a parking lot creep.

So maybe you had screwed up the last hunt because you were distracted. So what? That didn’t mean you couldn’t hunt at all. Dean was being stupid and you were being a big baby.

You sighed, wiped your eyes, blinked a few times and stepped out of the car to grab your duffel and check in. Dean would freak out in the morning when he realized you were gone, for sure. But you were still pissed off, so you turned off your phone.

You would deal with the werewolf tomorrow and then get back to the bunker, and maybe you wouldn’t say a thing, just let him soak in his own shame and defeat. That’ll teach him.

.

The next day you get up early. You’re still angry. You’re kind of glad though, while you’re angry you can be determined and strong, once that anger passes though, you just know that you’ll be all wallowy and shit, and you can’t afford that right at this moment.

You turn on your phone and rub at your eyes tiredly, yawning as you go to turn on your laptop.

You have about twenty missed calls, more than half from Dean and even a few from Sam. You check and you have even more messages. The last one from Dean reads “ _just let me know you’re okay._ ” You feel kinda bad, but not bad enough to open them. You’re sure they know where you are. And you’ll probably see them soon anyway.

You finish copying the details of the case to your journal quickly, closing the laptop and leaving to go get breakfast. You turn around at the last moment, looking at your cellphone lying on the table. You contemplate it for a moment before going back to take it.

As soon as you finish your breakfast you get back in your beloved jeep and head towards the forest, parking on a dirt road and hopping off.

You only bring your usual gun, knowing the werewolf was not out and about this time of day.

You’re still careful, watching your step as to not make too much noise, even in the woods, where the ground is covered with leaves and twigs, your footsteps are silent.  _See, I can be a hunter._

You walk for almost an hour, tracking the wolf’s steps. It was definitely feral. A normal were would have at least covered its tracks a  _little_. With this one you find footprints and broken branches and even a few drops and smears of blood. You smile. This one was gonna be so damn easy.

You hop back in your car and drive away, going back to your motel to try and entertain yourself until night fell.

Time passed faster than you thought it would, you went back to the diner for lunch and spent most of the day reading a pdf Sam had sent you last week about Greek mythology. Something you shared with him was your passion for reading, and as much as you loved his brother, it was nice to be able to be a nerd with someone once in a while.

As soon as night fell you headed out again. You’re kind of surprised that the brothers haven’t shown up at your doorstep. Your guess is that Sam probably talked Dean out of going after you. But part of you was kind of worried that you were no longer welcome back into their small family after going against their wishes and storming out like you had.

Just then, your phone started vibrating in your pocket, making you jump. You huffed at yourself and took it out, surprised to see it was Dean calling. You waited, frozen in shock and uncertainty as it went to voicemail.

You hesitated a moment before playing the message.

“ _Y/N I… you don’t have to prove anything, I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. But I’m starting to get worried. I know.._ ” he huffed and maybe it was a laugh “ _you’re too stubborn to call me back but… just_ ” he sighed softly “ _come home to me, us, goddami-_ ”

His voice cut off with a loud beep, indicating that the voicemail was over and making you jump again. You stared down at the phone, thinking about what he had said and turning it over in your hands. You felt a bit guilty, and you were not as angry as you had been yesterday, but you  _did_ have something to prove, you would head back as soon as you were done.

You try not to think about what he said last, once you started you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop. And you couldn’t afford to overthink everything he said like you usually did and risk being distracted on the hunt. Your crush was one sided, you needed to learn to accept that.

.

You stopped abruptly in front of the woods, turning off your jeep’s engine and stepping out of the car, mumbling curses and profanities as you crouched down to look under it.

You had decided that the best tactic was to play the part of the injured pray to get the werewolf close and then shoot it between the eyes. Easy peasy, in and out. Better than trekking the woods in the dark yelling “heere wolfy, wolfy”

You groaned loudly and got up from your crouched position, walking over to the hood and popping it open angrily but carefully, no need for your darling to suffer.

You heard the leaves crunch behind you and you smirked.  _Bingo_.

You turned around quickly, acting scared, and neared your hand to the loaded gun in the inside of your jacket. The leaves crunched again and a twig snapped. “Hello?” You called out, making your voice shake.

Two glowing eyes appeared in front of you and blinked. You took your gun out, acting quickly as the wolf pounced. A shot rang out and it yelped in pain, falling into a crouch in front of you, baring its teeth. You had hit a leg.

You cursed and reloaded, but it was too quick. It pounced again, and you grit your teeth when it managed to stab three sharp claws into your sides and drag them down onto your stomach, your shirt ripping.

“Fuck!” You yelled, elbowing it to get your arm free, you turned your head to the side and as far as you could from its snapping teeth, holding it off against its chest with your other forearm. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest.

You placed the barrel of the gun under its chin and squeezed your eyes shut before firing. It died instantly, the body falling limply to the ground.

You shook your head as you stepped over the corpse, trying to clear the ringing in your ears from the loud shot. You wiped a sleeve over your face and it came back bloody.

You plop down heavily next to the car, winching as the pain at your side flares up again with a vengeance, the adrenaline rush from earlier receding. You grimace and bite at your sleeve to hold in a scream when you peel the scraps of fabric that used to be the bottom of your shirt from the wound.

It’s ugly, three jagged, deep bloody lines tracing from the bottom of your ribs to just before your belly button. You groan, thumping your head back on to the metal of your car.

You get back up on shaky legs and, too tired to bury the body, drag it into the woods and leave it under some branches and leaves for the wild animals to find.

By the end your side is screaming in pain. But you don’t call anyone to help. You know you can make the drive back on your own. And you can’t call and admit that you got injured like a dumbass after the whole “I can do it myself” speech you gave just before leaving. And plus, you already checked out of the motel.

So you open the trunk and ruffle through the contents of your duffel for a clean shirt. You also take out the bandage you brought just in case. You take off your bloody and torn shirt and wrap the bandage around the wound. Groaning in pain the whole time. You put on the clean shirt and hop on the driver’s seat, ready to make the three hour drive back home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You clean the wound and it HURTS (If you're squeamish maybe steer clear of this one)

The ride home is awful, your side is stinging and burning with every movement you make, and it has not stopped bleeding. Your hands are clammy and you feel faint and feverish. It’s probably the blood loss.

You don’t have anything that can help you though. You’ve tightened your bandage twice, and used your torn shirt to mop up the blood that seeped through and ran down your side.

You consider stopping at a drugstore to buy antibiotic cream and stuff to stitch up the wound, but you’re afraid that if you stop now you won’t make it, there’ll be plenty of time to patch yourself up once you get to the bunker.

You drive in silence, concentrating on the road and on making it home. You don’t know how you’re going to avoid the brothers once you get there, but you try not to think about that.

You knew going on a hunt alone and angry was stupid, and you knew driving back on your own was stupid as well. But your pride was hurt, you wanted to prove that you could still fight on your own, that you could still be a hunter, be strong and help others.

And now you went and got hurt on one of the easiest hunts you’d had in a while.

Maybe Dean was right.

Could you even be a hunter anymore? What if you couldn’t? Your whole life was hunting. Did that mean the Winchesters wouldn’t want you with them anymore? They were the only family you had. Losing them would be…

You blinked rapidly to stop the sting of tears, gritting your teeth and strengthening your resolve. You just had to get to the bunker, you could figure out the rest later.

-

The wound feels boiling hot by the time you get there. The heat irradiates all the way to the top of your ribs, making every movement painful.

You park carefully into your usual spot. You know that the brothers know you’re here. You know your Jeep’s engine is not exactly quiet.

You get out of the car gingerly, stepping on the concrete floor and exhaling carefully before closing the door.

Just then you here heavy footfalls coming towards you. You shut your eyes, facing the Jeep. Knowing you’ll have to face Sam and Dean sooner or later. You’d have preferred later. But it wasn’t like you didn’t deserve to be scolded like a disobedient child. So you sighed deeply, regretting it when it made your ribs expand and pull at the torn skin, and turned in the direction of the resounding steps.

Dean got there first. You had thought that it had been a murderous look you had seen on his face, but upon further inspection you realized it was worry making his brows furrow and his lips turn down. You had never seen him this worried in all the time you had known him.

You didn’t have time to look at his face for much longer, because he came directly at you and swept you into a tight hug.

You gasped. The pain was so sudden and so great that you didn’t have time to take in enough air to scream. Your mind whited out, and for a second you thought you might actually faint.

You’re gritting your teeth while he holds you, trying not to open your mouth in case you scream or throw up or pass out. You are crying into his sleeve, involuntary and inevitable tears of pain escaping your stinging eyes.

“I was so damn worried” he mumbles into your hair, unaware of your current condition “was one second away from going after you myself, I swear to god.” There’s a pause where he just holds you, but loosens his grip a little, you take the chance to try to compose yourself as much as you can “I’m sorry, ‘msorry, I shouldn’t’ve talked to you like that, or said any of those things” you shake your head, because he was right, but regret it immediately when he tightens his hold again before letting go.

He holds you by the shoulders and looks you up and down. He squints at your face, drying your tears quickly and pressing the back of his hand to your forehead as if checking for a fever. “You ok? You look a little pale” you give him a tight lipped smile that you hope is reassuring “Yeah, just didn’t sleep much, is all”.

It’s embarrassing, but also true. And you’d rather tell him that than tell him about your three gaping wounds that hurt like fuck and are making you want to pass out from the pain.

He nods at you, looking unconvinced, and lets you go, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before falling back at his side.

Sam comes closer and, thank the lord, only grips the side of your arm in a side hug and kisses the top of your head chastely.

“You could’ve called me, y'know? Dean was about to have a heart attack, but I knew you could do it” you look up at him and smile at his warm expression. “I know Sam, and thanks, but I had to do this on my own” he nods thoughtfully while he leads you to the bunker’s entrance. “Yeah, I get that.”

-

Breakfast is a bit awkward, Dean keeps looking at you like you’re about to bolt and it’s difficult to eat without biting your tongue, you’re too concentrated in keeping your face neutral and not like you are on the verge of tears.

You excuse yourself ad soon as you are done with the excuse that you need to unpack.

You regret saying that though, because you really need to unpack and now you actually have to do it instead of going directly to your room and curling into a ball to cry.

Maybe not curling up though, that sounds painful right now.

You head over to your Jeep, getting the duffel out of the trunk with an ungraceful swing and a grunt. You drag it all the way back to your room, unable to carry it, and settle it on the bed.

Your side flares up again when you go to open the zipper and you groan. You go to the bathroom and take out the first aid kit you have been putting together since you arrived and seen what the brothers considered first aid (a bottle of whiskey, a lighter, dental floss and a needle).

You clean the excess blood off the skin surrounding the blood with a damp cloth before actually starting.

You take out the rubbing alcohol and brace yourself on the sink, you flinch at the first contact of the liquid with your skin, it feels like ice.

Then it starts to burn.

You scream hoarsely into your sleeve, keeping your eyes shut as tears squeeze through your eyelids. You try to be quiet as you tremble and shake, sliding down to the floor as your vision whites out.

After a few too long moments of sitting there in agony, whimpering quietly with every other harsh breath, the brutal burning of your skin simmers down to a constant, uncomfortable heat. You open your eyes and glance at the deep gashes warily, half expecting your skin to be sizzling and bubbling. Instead, the wound looks pretty much like it did before, only now you can actually see the jagged lines without all that blood getting in the way.

You shift over to the sink again, still on the floor, and grab a needle and the roll of suture thread that you stole from a hospital about a month ago. You open the cupboard under the sink and take out a tall glass bottle of whiskey, knowing you’re gonna need it. You almost cave and call for Sam, but you know he’d tell Dean and then everything would go to shit.

So you suck it up and take a swig from the bottle, not too much, you still need to be able to see, and thread the needle. You count to three in your head and scrunch your eyebrows together before piercing the skin.

It takes a while. You need to pause every few seconds to breathe and then power on, your jaw aches when you’re done.

Finally, you take out the tube of antibiotic cream and dab it softly at the edges of the now closed cuts, you sigh at how cool it feels on your burning skin. You redress the wound with a clean bandage and leave the bloody one in the sink.

You stay like that, sitting on the bathroom floor, too weak to get up, for about an hour. Then you take a big breath, grunt, and get up to unpack.

-

The next few days are torture.

You feel worse and worse every day, you’re running at a constant, low key fever of about a hundred degrees. The pain hasn’t really dulled, and you sleep more every day, you feel too tired to do anything. Much less be happy and jolly and pretend like everything is okay. Which is exactly what you have to do.

“Y/N?” You look up from your book, too tired to get up from bed again, and see Sam leaning on the doorway. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Um, Dean and I are going to the bar, we were wondering if you’d like to come with?” You shake your head no and go back to your book. He sighs and you put the book down.

“C'mon, you’ve been looking really down lately. Dean feels really bad, y'know? for what he said. I think it’ll do you two good to spend some time with each other”

You frown at him, not expecting that. You turn to look at him and wince at the stretch of your skin, you’re not healing as fast as you probably should be. “You think this is about that?” He shrugs as if to say  _what else_  and you huff “it wasn’t a big deal” he gives you a look “it wasn’t, sure I was angry, but I’m over it. I’ve just been feeling a bit… sick? I guess? Maybe I’ve come down with something” you try to smile reassuringly, and he takes a moment to look you over before nodding.

“Fine then, we’ll be back later. Enjoy your book”

You smile again and, not wanting him to think you are mad at him, you stand up.

Mistake.

You feel blood rush into your head and you sway on your feet. Sam goes to steady you, but his hand lands on your side and you yelp, pushing him away instinctively and falling onto the floor with a clatter.

He looks startled. His puppy dog eyes staring at you in wary concern. You choke on your next breath before he speaks. “Woah, hey, you okay? What was that?” He speaks gently, his arms still extended towards you.

Suddenly, the door slams open and Dean stands there, positively seething. Holding your bloody, torn shirt in one hand.

“What the _fuck_  is this?”


	3. Chapter 3

You sit there, sprawled on the floor with Sam standing tall beside you. Both frozen in position at the shock of Dean’s sudden entrance.

“Is this from the hunt?” He was shaking the balled up shirt in anger. You can only stare.

“Goddammit Y/N, is this from the fucking hunt?!”

“Dean…”

“No Sam, she said she was fine” his voice is harsh and stern as he turns to you “you said you were fine, have you been lying this whole time? Is that why you were feeling  _down_?”

You gulp, nodding guiltily as you lean on the bed to try to get up. Sam is looking at you wearily and you try to hold in your tears at the yelling.

You have never seen Dean this angry in your life. When he gets mad he tends to get all quiet and intimidating. He maybe even gets out of the room to cool off and then returns in a broody mood. But you have never seen him explode like this, eyes wide and voice loud as he grips your bloody shirt so tight his knuckles are white.

He stares at you for a moment longer, waiting for you to say something, maybe, but you have nothing to say, you know what you did was stupid. You’re embarrassed you kept it from them and they had found out like this that you were no good at hunting.

He jerks his arms up to run his hands through his hair, turning around abruptly to walk out the door.

You flinch at the movement, hearing him mumble curses under his breath.

“Shit” you hear. “ _Shit!_ ” Then a deep sigh before he comes back inside.

Sam looks weary, and keeps a close eye on you as you stand up slowly and sit on the bed, a pained grimace on your face the whole time.

“Show me” Dean says, voice stern.

“What?”

“Show me the wound” he waves his hand, an expression on his face that you can’t decipher. He looks disappointed, and tired. Your heart clenches. Maybe you _were_  getting kicked out for this after all.

You look at Dean, trying to read if he’s serious, then turn to glance at Sam, his brow is furrowed, but he nods reassuringly.

You sigh before lifting your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in a sports bra. Sam hisses in sympathy and Dean curses again.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You look down at that, grabbing your shirt and putting your hands on your lap to kind of cover the deep, badly stitched gash.

“Hey” Sam speaks softly, grabbing your jaw softly and turning you to him, he nods once “it’s okay.”

Your lower lip trembles and you bite at it, looking back down and frowning at your own stupidity.

“I didn’t want you to think I was useless” you say softly, but they hear you. Dean groans loudly, running a hand over his face and you shrink into yourself.

You continue before they start speaking again.

“You were right Dean” he shakes his head, opening his mouth to talk but you power on. “I ruined the last hunt completely, we had to do everything all over again because I was stupid and I got distracted and I almost got one of you killed” your breath hitches at the pressure on your chest. “I’m not a good hunter anymore, and I know that I should probably leave and let you do your thing but you’re everything I’ve got. And I thought that maybe I could prove myself to you but then I go and fuck up a simple werewolf hunt like a complete fucking moron.” You sob, and complete anger at yourself washes over you so strongly that your jaw hurts, you’re crying now, and that just makes you feel even dumber. “But I didn’t want you to know what a complete fuckup I am so I tried to fix it myself but apparently I can’t even do that.”

The room is silent except from your harsh breathing. You feel like you’re being slowly crushed by the pressure on your chest as you wait for them to speak.

“Fuck, Y/N…”

It sounds like a pained whimper when he speaks. He rubs his hands down his face, pressing down on his eyes for a moment before hanging his head and then looking up at you.

You’re surprised to see his green eyes shining like glass. He looks absolutely devastated, and you’re not sure why exactly that is.

Sam mumbles something under his breath before turning you to him. You turn to look at him, wide eyed and waiting, he looks at you with an odd look in his eyes. Like he’s searching for something desperately and can’t find it.

He finally sighs heavily and gives you his signature _we’ll-talk-about-this-later_ look before getting up and leaving the room, mumbling something about a med kit.

You’re already dreading your talk with Sam, and Dean has said absolutely nothing. You know he’s disappointed, and that hurts even more than his explosive anger from earlier.

So you sit on the bed with your arms on your lap, pointedly not looking at him and twiddling your thumbs.

“I’m so sorry” he says suddenly, so softly that you think you might have imagined it. But when you turn to look at him and see his defeated slump and haunted eyes, you think perhaps you didn’t.

“Why?” And you’re whispering too. God your throat feels dry, and you’re suddenly numb. You think about packing your bags.

“If you’ve been thinking all that shit this whole time and I haven’t noticed then I haven’t exactly been the best- the best friend, um, exactly” he scratches the back of his neck and looks at the door.

You scoff. Of course he would blame this on himself.

You move to get up from the bed but Dean shoots forward before you actually do.

“Hey, no, what’re you doin’?” He holds you by the top of your arms, lowering you back down to the bed and sitting down next to you. “Don’t leave” he whispers. You think maybe you weren’t supposed to hear that. But then he pulls you closer to him in a careful hug. You feel him press his cheek to the top of your head.

“Just, please stay here” You think maybe he knew, that you were planning to leave. It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about you getting up from the bed anymore.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart. For what I said the other day” he’s still talking into your hair “I was worried about you, you scared the shit outta me on the last hunt. And I thought if I said that then maybe you wouldn’t go on anything for a while. I guess that plan backfired, huh?” He chuckles wetly and pulls you closer.

You’re still not wearing a shirt, but you don’t mind.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls away and wipes at tour cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel useless, or like you were a bad hunter, or any of that bullshit you were talkin’ about” you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupts you. “No, now you let me talk. You’re an incredible hunter and our  _friend_. Nothing you said is true and even if it was we wouldn’t want you to leave. I- we love you. You’re family.” He brushes feather light fingers around the edges of the one of the jagged lines on your skin but takes his hand away immediately when you flinch at the sting. “I still don’t like that you didn’t tell anyone. But I think it’s pretty badass that you stitched it up on your own.”

You huff a laugh, and he rewards you with a huge, dazzling smile.

Just then Sam comes back, the first aid kit you keep in the kitchen with him.

He stops at the doorway, looking at Dean and then at you before coming in and sitting on your other side.

“I’m glad you’re not dead, but that was freaking stupid” you nod, looking down.

“I think it’s infected” you mumble, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, it probably is. Here, the pills will help” he hands you two pills and a glass of water and you take them gratefully. “We’ll help patch you back up though” You nod, looking down at your injury where Sam is currently slathering some kind of green paste all over it.

“It’s men of letters approved. It’ll help you heal faster” he explains and you nod.

“I’m sorry for scaring you guys” you mumble.

“Its okay” they both say at the same time.

“We just, probably shouldn’t go on hunts on our own from now on” you nod again, leaning against Dean while Sam works on dressing your side with a new bandage.

Dean wraps an arm around you, moving you so that you’re leaning against him as comfortably as possible. He sighs deeply.

You pretend not to feel when he presses a kiss to the top of your head. And pretend not to see the smirk Sam throws his way when he does.

You can figure that out later.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr @soopranatural


End file.
